And There Was Music
by Finestranima
Summary: Professor Hill comes home late and what he finds is music to his ears. A tribute of sorts to Morfiwien Greenleaf and Tmyres77.  Lemony and beautiful. Please enjoy responsibly.


A/N: This little piece was inspired by Morfiwien Greenleaf and Tmyres77... and their sexy writing styles. I hope it's not too smutty for their tastes. I did try and keep it tasteful. It's also my first M fic and first fic under this pen name. I feel a great sense of accomplishment.

It's also inspired a bit by The Piano which I saw for the first time recently.

While I adore The Music Man, I don't own it. That honor belongs to Warner Bros., Meridith Wilson and all associated. Please enjoy

The sun had long set when Prof. Harold Hill made his way down Garden Street to the little house at the end of the block. He opened the white gate and climbed a short set of stairs, setting his briefcase down to place his key in the lock. He sighed and removed his hat, wiping his brow and neck with a handkerchief. It had been so hot that day. He stopped and listened. He took out his pocket watch.

It was rather late for lessons, wasn't it?

He opened the door and walked into the parlor. It was not a lesson, only his wife, alone at the piano. She didn't look up at his entrance. She did not notice he was standing in the doorway.

She was engaged in her playing and he was entranced by her passion. It wasn't something that just anyone saw every day. The calm, collected librarian sometimes exhibited a righteous or indignant anger when provoked or as the situation called for, but it was rare that she displayed many other emotions to others in the community. It was probably this, more than anything else that alienated her before he came to town. There was, of course, also the fact that she was a working woman. This caused great speculation amongst the community. Surely, only a woman of desperate means would be a _working_ woman. She was also not one to join the others in their idle gossip meaning she was never there for her own defense; so they'd made her out to be Hester Pryne out of sheer spite. She put up with their glares in church and their protests of her attempts to "corrupt" their children with decent literature. How fitting, then, that she should fall for the man who came to town with the claim that he would save their town from corruption. With his corruption, he made her an accepted, beloved member of the community. Irony could be rather clever sometimes.

But she was quite the passionate little being when truth was told. The sheet music was open on the piano, but he could tell she wasn't reading the music. Her fingers pushed the keys as if she wanted to brand her heart into each one. Her body weaved with the flow of the music as it swelled and ebbed like an ocean tide. She should have been playing on a grand piano in a crowded concert hall instead of on a stand up piano in an empty house. He was amazed at how well her fingers seemed to know the keys. He had never thought to ask how long she had been playing, but he realized she must have been very young when she began playing. She knew just how to touch the keys to pull from it the most beautiful of cadences, her foot moving rhythmically on the peddle. The piano came alive as she filled it with her soul. She knew the piano, it seemed, better than she knew him. Like a lover...

He felt like a voyeur, watching something so intimate.

Her white neck, pale and soft in the lamplight curved towards the piano. As he leaned down to kiss it, she wheeled around on the swivel stool. Her elbow caught him squarely in the temple, knocking him to the floor.

"Harold Gregory Hill!" she said angrily after recognizing him, "You know full well that I do not enjoy being surprised like that. You could have been a burglar or... or a rapist."

"Oh, honey... Lord help the rapist who enters this house... he's in for a wallop," he said holding his head.

She dropped to her knees in sympathy. She pulled his fingers away from where she knocked him upside the head.

"You shouldn't have scared me," she said.

"Scared you? Woman! I put my key in the door, opened it, shut it and walked halfway across the house. How did you not hear me?" he said grimacing at her touch.

She gently kissed the lump forming.

"I'm sorry. I was playing," she said apologetically.

"Yes, I heard. It was quite beautiful. What was it?" he said.

"It was Beethoven. Moonlight Sonata," she said, "Of course it wasn't called that whenever he first wrote it..."

"Why don't you keep playing? I was really enjoying it," he said, hoping to recreate the moment.

"Enjoying it or enjoying me playing it?" she said. But she sat down at the piano anyway. He pulled the chair she used for teaching right behind her.

"It's a toss up," he said with a smile. Her fingers alighted on the keys with a gentle touch.

"Professor Hill... using slang are we?" she said with arched eyebrow as she played.

"Yes, Madam Librarian, I am," he whispered dangerously close to her ear. He began removing hairpins one by one, dropping them into the cup that held her pay from piano lessons. Curl by golden curl, her hair cascaded in a softly glowing mass about her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat as he rubbed the gilded silk. She continued playing, her fingers floating up arpeggios and broken chords.

"Darling, the window," she said with a sigh.

"Let them see," he said as he brought his hands to her waist.

"Please. We've caused enough scandal in this town..." she whispered even as she leaned back into his embrace.

"Oh, alright," he conceded, "Will you keep playing?"

"Yes, darling," she said, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on what she was playing.

He rose and closed the heavy curtain over the decorative lace ones and then once again took his seat behind her. Her playing had resumed its tempo as he rose, but slowed again when he sat down.

"That will keep out those prying eyes. Now, no more distractions," he said pressing his lips onto her skin where the alabaster column of her neck met her shoulder.

"Except you, Mr. Hill," she said, pausing as an inadvertent chill ran through her body.

"Don't stop now..." he said, bringing his hands up higher to the top button of her blouse. He popped it open and slipped his hand inside. Her hands dropped heavily on the keys.

"Now, I know that's not a chord," he chuckled as he outlined her distinctly feminine form. She grabbed his knees and spun around slowly.

She looked him deeply in his eyes. She brought her hand up and cupped his face, "You look tired, darling."

He kissed her palm, "Hard day at work. They lost an order. It was hot. I'm sure it annoyed me much more than it should have."

"Hard work is hard, isn't it?" she asked as she pulled off her blouse.

He grinned, "Not as hard as..."

"What?"

"I'm not going to even say it..."

She laughed as she blushed, "You, sir, are a cad."

"A cad, milady? I have given up my wicked ways as well you know," he said with mock aghast.

She laughed again and stood up, pulling him with her.

"Well, you certainly haven't given up your wicked tongue," she said, pulling off his coat and tossed it so it draped over the back of the chair in which he had been sitting. He kissed her roughly as she tugged at his bowtie. His kiss slowed as he savored the plushness of her lips. He was all set to bruise them with the passion he felt for her, but they were so divinely soft that he simply sank into them. He gently pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth. She slipped her hand into his collar and pushed back his sweat dampened shirt, feeling the raises and dips his muscles made. She kissed along the rise his collar bone and up the side of his neck. She traced his jawline, now covered with coarse stubble, with light kisses.

She lovingly removed his shirt, carefully unfastening each button and pushing it down his shoulders, til it found itself on the floor, next to her blouse. How handsome he looked in his undershirt. She loved the feel of the soft, worn cotton against her skin. His hands wrapped themselves around her waist. He found the bow at the base of her back which held her corset so snug against her body, pushing her breasts up towards him. Looking over her shoulder, he tugged at the bow as she curled into his body, feeling the wonderful expanse of his chest. He loosened it just enough to push his hands up underneath the back of it, further loosening it. He pulled her closer as he kissed her, pushing his arm up in between the corset and her slip. The corset finally came lose enough and he pulled it over the curve of her hips. He unbuttoned her skirt and pulled them off together. She stepped out of them and uncharacteristically kicked them aside. She was left in her slip, drawers, stockings and shoes.

His hands cupped her face as he kissed her. He drank in her love as if she were the most expensive and intoxicating of liqueur. Together, they moved to the side of the piano stool. He pushed her up against the piano, loudly hammering on several keys at once. As he firmly placed one hand on either side of her and continued his assault on her lips, she smiled at the discord the piano made. As he moved on to her neck, she tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck to his attention. One strap of her slip inched its way down her arm, exposing a pale swath of skin. His lips brushed her shoulder on its way down her chest to the tip of her breast. He sucked at the summer cotton slip until the dusty pink showed pert though the moistened material. The tips of his fingers was all that was needed to push down the material over the swell, exposing her breast to the evening air. He sucked at her breast like a hungry child at a mother's breast.

She reveled at her husband's attentions to her. She let go of a breath she didn't know she had been holding. She wound her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer into her. He bunched the material of her slip in his hands, pulling it up. He tugged at her drawers until they slipped down her legs. After she stepped out of them, he pulled back to look at her. With her hands at either side of her on the keys, one breast exposed, with one foot still in stockings and shoe popped back against the piano, she looked like a woman out of a dirty picture. It only aroused him further.

He looked down into her half-lidded hazel eyes.

"You're gorgeous," he said, plainly and truthfully.

The edges of her lips curled into a smile, "You're not half bad looking yourself."

"You have such a way with words," he chuckled. She reached out to him with one hand and unbuckled his belt. She unfastened his pants and slipped her hand inside his slacks, pulling him closer. She traced his masculinity with her index finger, making him shiver, even though it was stifling in the late August heat. She gasped when he pushed himself flush against her body. Their bodies fit so snugly against each other, each curve complimenting the others'.

Suddenly, he could no longer wait. He sat down on the chair and divested himself of his pants and drawers. She took the opportunity to drop the key cover. She rested against it and watched as he hastily pulled off his sock and shoes. He stood and grasped her waist, setting her atop the key cover. He stroked her thighs, rubbing up and down them slowly. He caught the bottom of her slip with his thumbs and pushed it up. She moaned when he slipped into her. She gasped as he filled her completely. There was nothing but bliss on her face. Her eyes drew shut and her mouth slack as he thrust into her, long, eager strokes.

Her legs locked behind his back, one shoe beginning to come lose. She matched his thrusts. Her sweet cries grew louder. She felt so unbearably good around him, fitting him like a tight glove. Her heat matched the air around them. The heat and sweat just added to his drive. She moaned as his speed increased, pleading for him to go faster... harder... Her nails dug into his undershirt threatening to dig new holes in it. Her channel gripped him tightly. He could feel her about to go over. She drew her legs wider, beginning to spasm. He pulled his hand in between their bodies, finding her hood and stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts until he felt her body clench around him. She cried out again, clutching him for stability.

He loved this side of his wife. She was so... wanton. It was beautiful and he was the only one who experienced it. She ran her hands over her body in post-orgasmic bliss, her body still shuddering in the aftershock. He pulled out and began stroking himself, watching his wife's own languid exploration of her body. She found the edge of her slip and slowly pulled it up over her head, wanting to be free of the now constrictive clothing. She unfastened her garter belt and slowly rolled her stockings down her legs.

He moaned in appreciation as she stripped for him. Her lithe, smooth calves came into view. She slipped off her other shoe, the one that hadn't fallen off in their lovemaking. As ran her hands back up her body, he stroked faster. She brought her hands up to her hair, most of which was now stuck to her neck in the heat. She twisted it into a quick bun. Doing so, she thrust out her chest making him groan. He was so close...

She grabbed his undershirt and pulled him, once more, towards her, placing a hot kiss on his open mouth. He guided himself, once more to her entrance where he drove deep, just for a second, releasing into her.

She smiled as he watched her husband let go, his eyes shut and mouth open in silent adoration.

He kissed her gently as he felt himself go soft inside of her.

"Madam Marian, You certainly do know how to make a body feel at home," he said smiling.

"I try my hardest, Harold," she said returning his smile, "Did you get supper tonight?"

"How can you think of food at a time like this?" he said, still stroking her thighs.

"The human mind is amazing, isn't it? I want to keep my man happy," she said, she wickedly clenched around his soft member for emphasis.

"Yes, dear. I am fully sated now in all ways," he laughed.

"Good. Would you like to accompany me upstairs?" she said pulling her discarded slip over her head til it met his hips, still pushed against hers.

"Yes, I think I would," he said. He pulled away from her and grabbed his clothing in one arm and pulled his drawers up. She gathered her clothing as well and took the arm he offered him. Together they climbed the stairs to bed, taking a last look at the piano, they shared a smile.

She would have a hard time teaching lessons the next day...


End file.
